


caught (where you want me)

by perfect_little_fool



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friends to Lovers, Light BDSM, Masturbation Interruptus, Mutual Pining, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22118788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool
Summary: Bellamy once again rolls his eyes, sliding the towel strung over his shoulder off so he can smack her upper arm in his vantage point with it. She gasps mockingly. “Brat. Just say you’ll house-sit for me so I can buy my damn plane ticket.”“Sure,” she gives in. “But the next time I’m over for dinner with O you owe me a back rub.”Bellamy has to tear apart the mental image of her mewling like a cat under his firm hands on her tense muscles lest he pop a hard-on right in front of her. Luckily the bar between them keeps him somewhat safe. “Deal.”(or the one where he comes home from a cancelled flight to find his housesitter in a compromising position)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 306





	caught (where you want me)

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this all yesterday and edited it today. it wasn't supposed to be so lengthy, nor so exposition driven. but tbh I fell in love with it halfway through and i'm catching the drift from myself that more could come from this in the future. who knows, inspiration strikes me at the most random of times. 
> 
> lots of inspiration drawn from _The Dom's Dungeon_ by Cherise Sinclair. if you love BDSM novels I highly recommend it. 
> 
> feedback is especially welcome on this one as I adore it a lot. happy 2020 ya'll!

“It’ll only be for a few days,” Bellamy relies while shaking the tumbler gripped in his hand, grabbing a clean glass from behind the counter at the same time. “I’m only going to help Miller put the finishing touches on the bar set-up before the opening night the next day.”

Clarke licks her lips, flicking her fingers across the surface she’s leaning heavily against. “And Octavia can’t help for what reason?”

Bellamy tries but fails to keep from rolling his eyes. “It’s her turn to drive out to see Lincoln that weekend. That long-distance bullshit makes no sense to me.”

“That’s because you’re not a romantic at heart,” Clarke hits back dryly, smiling. 

“Ha ha,” he returns, pouring her drink for her with the smoothness he’d developed scarily fast almost eight years ago. “Here you go. You know, I’ve seen you here practically every Saturday night since you became legal. You’re right on your way to being an alcoholic like yours truly.”

“Please don’t say that to me,” she all but gags, grabbing her glass and taking a nice long sip. “My mother is rolling over in her grave.”

“Your mother isn’t dead.”

“Potato, pah-tah-toe”

Bellamy chuckles, leaning against the bar countertop much like Clarke. “Well, what do ya say? I can pay you for being kind enough to look after the house. It’s mostly so Orpheus doesn’t get lonely.” 

“You know I’d take care of Orpheus any day! I helped you pick him out,” she reminds him with a scrunch of her nose. “I guess if you’re offering some cash to help with my commute I’ll consider it.”

“Commute? Clarke, you were at that house more than your own in high school.”

“Stop ruining my fun of aloofness, Bellamy.”

He once again rolls his eyes, sliding the towel strung over his shoulder off just so he can smack her upper arm in his vantage point with it. She gasps mockingly. “Brat. Just say you’ll house-sit for me so I can buy my damn plane ticket.”

She pretends to think about it, grabbing her glass and swirling it extra long before taking another hearty pull from it. She smacks her lips when pulling it away from her mouth, Bellamy clearing his throat and looking away as her tongue darts out yet again. The mole adjacent to her cupid’s bow is taunting him more than usual.

“Sure,” she finally gives in, sighing dramatically. “But the next time I’m over for dinner with O you owe me a back rub.”

Bellamy has to tear apart the mental image of her mewling like a cat under his firm hands on her tense muscles lest he pop a hard-on right in front of her. Luckily the bar between them keeps him somewhat safe. “Deal.”

-

Clarke stopped choosing to spend time at her own home by about the age of 12. She met Octavia just a couple years before that, the first girl who offered to sit at lunch with her and play cards with her at recess. It was new and exciting, a friend she didn’t see coming, but one she embraced all the same.

When Clarke’s dad died at the beginning of junior high, Abby Griffin retreated. Into her room, into herself, and more importantly: away from her daughter. Work became her sea she drowned in week in and week out, an empty house becoming Clarke’s only solace within the year her father passed. One Friday at school when Octavia saw Clarke’s hesitation to get on the bus to go home, she made the move to first invite the sad blonde over to her house for the weekend. 

The rest, as they say, is history. 

Her relationship with her friend’s older brother, Bellamy, didn’t start to progress until well into high school. As a young preteen she was nervous around him, shaky hands and red cheeks any time the boy five years her senior entered the same room as her. She wasn’t sure why until Octavia accused her of having a crush, an idea which Clarke squashed as quickly as she could by pretending like her feelings for women were more prominent. Octavia seemed to believe this, being young at the time, as well having been Clarke’s first kiss. A lot of their firsts happened to be with each other, after all. 

Bellamy was the caretaker of the household, Octavia’s mom dying just as the girls began their freshman year. At this point, he was the big brother who was newly 20, which meant he had to step up to the plate and be there for his little sister. It was hard, it was rough, but he made the sacrifice all the same.

This meant he was constantly fawning over the two the minute they stepped foot in the house - making them snacks, cooking them dinner, making sure they did their homework instead of talking to strangers on Omegle or Tumblr. Octavia brushed it off as him trying to be her parent, while Clarke warmed to it immediately, having been void of such tenderness for years. 

She didn’t really start hanging around Bellamy Blake without his magnetic sibling not far behind until closer to her senior year. She was 17, finally feeling like a grown up, and would garden while he mowed the lawn, or would fetch his newspaper from the front porch while he brewed everyone coffee in the morning. It was a new kind of intimacy she pinned down as having a friend that was not only a boy, which was different within itself, but finally having a friend that wasn’t Octavia. Who she adores more than life itself, but was becoming her own person as well.

Clarke recalls her first moment with Bellamy when she knew their lives were more tangled together than he probably liked to admit. They were at the local animal shelter on Free-Adoption day, since the building was becoming too full. Originally they were out and about to buy decorations for her and Octavia’s joint graduation party, but Clarke begged him to turn into the parking lot upon seeing the giant sign and balloons strung outside for the event. He pretended to not want to but maneuvered his truck into a parking spot without much hesitation. 

They’d been bouncing around to different kennels the whole time, stopping and petting, Clarke crying over a couple that she wanted to take home more than anything. However, it wasn’t until they came upon a giant golden retriever, bigger than any from that breed he’d seen before, that Bellamy himself fell in love.

“And who is this big oaf?” Bellamy had said with a grin, wider than she’d seen him give any living thing before. Not even to his girlfriend at the time, Gina.

Clarke picked up his paperwork to read while Bellamy had crouched to get closer to the dog. “Looks like they gave him the temporary name Max.”

“Max, uck. How boring.”

Clarke laughed, tucking a stray chunk of hair behind her ear to squint down at more of Max’s information. “Well, it looks like his old family only kept him until he started to get too big, and then gave him up. They say he’s very friendly.”

“I’d agree with that,” Bellamy said with a burly chuckle as the beautiful pup jumped up to place his paws on each of the large man’s shoulders. Then he proceeded to try and lick everyone square inch of Bellamy’s face. “Very _very_ friendly.”

She smiled. “I think he likes you.” She squatted to get near the dog as well, reaching out to allow him to sniff her hand in greeting.

“And I think I like him,” Bellamy replied, scratching his wide hand down Max’s flank. “I can’t believe anyone would be so awful as to give this gorgeous guy up.”

“He doesn’t have to be abandoned anymore, ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to convince me,” he shot back with more warmth in his voice than the oven back at home when making her and Octavia cookies. “I’m taking him with me whether they like it or not. I just hate that name.”

“Well, let’s change it. What about...Buster?”

Bellamy gave her a not-so-amused look. “Do I look like the kind of man to own a dog named Buster?”

Clarke hid her laugh with her hand. “Okay, fine, you come up with it then.”

He gave it some thought, running his palm over the pup’s ear once, twice, then three times while the golden just looked at him with complete and utter love. His tail running what seemed to be about a mile a minute in excitement to have found his forever home. 

“I like Orpheus.”

“From that depressing Greek tragedy?”

“More like from that extraordinary Greek tragedy.”

Clarke put out a hand to rub at Orpheus’ head, her finger bumping against Bellamy’s when she does. She pretended not to notice as he looked at her in reaction. “It suits him.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy echoed, his voice raw from what Clarke assumed was happiness about his new found pet. “It does.”

-

Although Bellamy’s father was never in the picture, they found out he had also passed on when Bellamy was still in kindergarten. A large sum of money came their way in quick succession, which helped Ms. Blake put a down payment on a wonderful property on the farther side of town. It was a two-story, still a modest size however, with a nice bay window at the front where the porch sat. The Blake’s struggled, no doubt, but not to the point where they ever lost their possessions. Just to the point where the house payment tended to come before full meals. More sacrifices.

Clarke loved this house, more than she loved the over-sized estate her mom had inherited from her own parents. Her childhood home held no connection for her anymore, not after it became a ghost town during her preteen years. Abby Griffin herself barely spends enough time there for it to truly hold meaning for anyone.

She parks her car in the same spot she always does, under the big tree between the walk-up and garage. She once joked that they should put a reserved sign there since she’s the only one who parks there, but Octavia and Bellamy didn’t seem to find that as comical as Clarke did. 

Bellamy had been living in the house alone with Orpheus for about two years now. Octavia and Clarke both decided to start with community college just twenty minutes away, but O was more eager to leave the nest than her older brother had been. Since the house was basically in his name, he had resolved to dying with it, while Octavia wanted no such fate. During their second semester in college she not only found a boyfriend that lived two hours away, but found an apartment with a gal named Niylah she had met on campus. Clarke decided it wasn’t appropriate for her to stay at the Blake’s as much as she did without the other girl being there as well, so she quietly went back to living with her mother. Regretfully.

The front door opens before Clarke is even fully up the steps, Orpheus bounding toward her at full speed. Even for a now six-year-old dog he loves tackling people to the ground with no remorse. 

“Okay, boy, okay!” she laughs, allowing just a few licks before sitting up and pushing him to a more acceptable distance. The dog is practically a brute, always been large for his breed, with paws the size of Clarke’s own hands. She kisses the top of his head before getting back to her feet, grabbing her backpack that had fallen in the scuffle too.

“He hasn’t seen you in a few weeks, give him a break,” Bellamy calls from the open doorway, leaning against the jamb with arms folded. To make matters worse, he’s wearing one of his damn grey henleys. Could this get more cliche?

Clarke smirks in response, reaching out to push his curls out of his eyes after stopping in front of him. “You need a haircut.”

“Octavia said the same thing. Good to know you two still share a brain.”

“I’m offended you’d think that’d change.”

They move into the house, Bellamy whistling to bring Orpheus back inside, who had found a squirrel to torture. His bags for his trip were sitting in the front room, plane ticket and wallet on the side table for him to grab. “So when will you be back again?” Clarke asks as she bypasses all of this to fall on the couch in the living room.

“Sunday morning,” he answers, grabbing his jacket that was strung over the back of the armchair by the fireplace to throw on. “The opening night is tomorrow, but I’m gonna stay in town through Saturday to help Miller with any last-minute things he might need.”

“I’m excited he managed to open his own bar out there. You’re kind to help him.”

“Well, you know he’s returned the favor countless times,” Bellamy points out, sitting on the coffee table across from Clarke. Orpheus runs over within seconds, sitting on his haunches between Bellamy’s knees to demand pets. The older man obliges. 

She stretches her arms over her head a bit, snuggling into the couch she’s napped on more times than is morally acceptable. “Your house is in good hands, Blake. Orpheus loves me more than you anyway.”

Bellamy reaches out to tickle at the skin exposed from her lifted up shirt. She shrieks and smacks his hand away, while he just laughs. “Yeah, you wish,” he grins. Her thumb stings to reach out and touch the scar on his lip for not the first time in her life. “Anything you need before I head out?”

“Are there snacks?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I stocked the pantry with all your favorites.”

“Did you get blue -”

“-berry pop tarts? Yes.”

She smiles, sitting up to get to her feet. “I love you.”

“I know,” he returns as they head to the front door, Oprheus hot on their heels out of confusion. 

“Don’t worry, bub,” she coos at the dog, scratching absently at his ear while he stares back with his big beautiful eyes. “Daddy will be back soon, okay?”

Bellamy coughs, turning away from her for a brief second to catch his breath. “Ah, I, uh, have fun with him okay? Make sure you take him on two walks a day.”

“Yes, sir, I know the drill,” she jokes, giving him another wide smile. Bellamy’s stomach curdles. She’s gonna be the fucking death of him. 

They share a small, warm hug, the feel of his large hands on her waist enough to send a spark through her torso before he’s pulling away to grab his luggage. She demands he text her when he’s at the airport and about to take off, while he berates her about giving him a call with any questions. Her and Orpheus wave him off as he gets in his cab, shutting the door once he’s turning down the street. 

“All right, mister,” Clarke asks the dog once their alone. “What now?”

-

Octavia is calling him within minutes of leaving his house.

“Everything okay?” Bellamy answers, double checking to make sure he has all that he needs in his carry-on. “Shouldn’t you be at Lincoln’s by now?”

“Oh, yeah, I got here like an hour ago. Why didn’t you ask me to house sit?” she questions instantly, an edge of bitterness to her voice. Bellamy quirks a brow at this, aware she can’t see it though. “I’m a little offended you asked Clarke over me.”

“Well, dear sister, if you must know,” Bellamy replies with a touch of humor, “I knew you were going out of town. I didn’t want to make you change your plans for me. I know how much you like this Lincoln kid.”

“He’s 26, you guys are the same age.”

His blood boils hearing this, but he pushes the flare of annoyance down, knowing it’s uncalled for. “Well, thank you for bringing that new piece of information to my attention. However, I didn’t want to intrude on your weekend with him. Have fun and be safe, please.”

“Will you ever just admit it?”

It was a deer in the headlights moment for sure, something that didn’t quite take him aback, yet caught him off guard. Did his sister catch onto what he’s been trying to hide since the two girls he’s closest to were 15?

“Admit what?” He’s decided to go the dumb route, apparently.

“Admit that you’ve always liked Clarke more. You wish she were your actual little sister, not me.”

To say he could breathe easy was an understatement, his chest loosening the minute she finishes complaining. He ignores the stirring in his stomach that Octavia couldn’t be farther from the truth about his feelings for Clarke, though. 

“You’re an idiot,” he laughs with all the love he knows he holds for his younger sister. Octavia may have been an adventurous, mischievous pain in the ass growing up, but he swore his life to take care of her. That will never change, no matter how old she gets. “You know no one will ever replace you. Clarke just happened to be a hundred percent free this weekend. If you have beef it’s with her.”

“Eat my ass, Bellamy,” she retorts in typical Octavia fashion. “Tell Miller I say hi.”

“Will do.”

They hang up shortly after that, Bellamy hearing all about what her little sister’s boyfriend’s art gallery was going to be when they go see it the next day. He didn’t not like the guy, just didn’t trust or know him yet. From the way O talks about him it’s like he hung the moon and the stars for her. Wonder what that’s like.

It takes another fifteen minutes before the cab driver drops Bellamy off at the airport and another fifteen before Bellamy is in line for security. He pulls out his phone to text Clarke and ask her how it’s going so far. When he doesn’t receive a response within seconds - the normal amount of time it usually takes her to answer - he figures she’s already napping. Another normal thing for her.

-

Clarke turns the page of her book with one of the few fingers on her hand that is dry, eagerly scanning the words before reaching over to grab the glass of wine she’d poured herself.

Bellamy’s hot tub is a more recent addition to his backyard, one he couldn’t really afford until Octavia and Clarke had graduated high school and he took over running the bar after Wicks moved out of town. It was his first ever frivolous purchase, and when the girls had seen it after it was installed they made fun of him for it for weeks. Then they begged him to use it any time they were over, which let him know they didn’t actually think it was “unnecessary” or “extraneous.”

After he had left to go to the airport, she had debated on a nap or lounging in the jacuzzi. A nap sounded delightful, but the idea of soaking in the warm bubbly water while reading her favorite erotica and drinking? She couldn’t pass it up. Plus, because of where the hot tub sat in the tree covered backyard and the fact that his one neighbor never liked to leave their house? She wasn’t wearing a lick of clothing.

Okay, to be fair, she doesn’t skinny dip in this hot tub _ever_. But hell, if she has the option to since she has it and the whole house to herself, she’s going to snatch up such a tantalizing opportunity. 

Orpheus himself is snoozing on the back porch, strewn across one of the dozens of dog beds he’s acquired over the years. She’d already fed him his dinner for the evening and was planning on walking him once she’s finished some self-care time. He doesn’t seem impatient to get going, however. 

The book she’s flicking through is hardly a masterpiece, but it gets the job done. She’s read it more times than she remembers at this point, having first picked it up at Target since they were having a sale, and the couple grasping each other on the front cover made her drool. It was a tall, thick, tan-skinned man with curly black hair gripping the smaller frame of a light-haired woman, their lips inches from touching. It had made her shiver and she’d thrown it in her grocery basket without a second thought.

The plot is senile, barely anything revolutionary, but the smut is otherworldly. Written in such graphic detail, it leaves her sweating every time. With each read-through she finds something new to love, whether it’s a fresh description of the male character’s cock or the female character’s lust - she can’t get enough of it. 

“Hmm,” she hums upon coming to one of her favorite scenes: where Nathaniel goes down on Winona in a public restroom, ordering her to be quiet so everyone outside doesn’t hear them. Despite the warm water of the jacuzzi surrounding her, she feels her nipples harden to pebbled peaks.

Clarke takes another sip of her wine, going to check the time on her phone. It’s 6:05pm, meaning Bellamy’s flight leaves in about an hour. She has a text from him, sent thirty minutes ago. Her phone is also at 2%.

_In line for security. Octavia is pissed I asked you instead of her to house sit. How’s Orpheus doing?_

She sets her book down on a dry spot next to the jacuzzi, coming halfway out of the water to type back a reply. Her nipples harden even more, brushing against the wood of the desk. The air sparks coolness against her wet skin, reminding Clarke she should probably head inside soon. Especially with an almost-dead phone. 

_Octavia is jealous over anything, you know that. He’s doing okay, was a little sad for the first few minutes you were gone, but got excited when I pulled out his food. He’s happier with my company than yours_

She smirks as she sends this, falling back under the envelope of the water. She’s still warm between her legs from reading about Nathaniels’ tongue deep in Winona’s pussy, and finds her fingers exploring the top of her clit. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to read her smut while sitting in her best friend’s hot tub. Who she may or may not have always wanted to fuck, just to see what it’s like. 

Clarke whines, closing her eyes to imagine Bellamy next to her, his dark hand coming to rest upon hers that’s touching herself. “You all wet for me?” he murmurs next to her ear, lips hot against her neck. “You gonna touch yourself in my backyard, being naughty when I left you with my home?”

Her phone buzzing with another text message sends the image of Bellamy away, fingers still rubbing against her clit frantically. With her free hand she lifts her phone to read the text.

_Brat. At my gate. I’ll let you know when I’m boarding._

His nickname that he started so fondly calling Clarke when “princess” didn’t get the point across any longer sends her spiraling, inserting one finger inside herself as a soft orgasm laps against the front of her womb. It’s not anything earth-rocking, but she feels satisfied all the same. When she finishes relishing the moment she notices her phone has officially died, so she stands up to exit the jacuzzi.

-

Bellamy started calling Clarke the half-exasperated half-loving name of “brat” once the sting of “princess” wore off for her. He suspects he started making up for his inability to throw her down and fuck her brains out with a biting pet name that got under her skin, since he wanted to know he could affect her in some way.

She had been complaining about the outrageous pair of skis and expensive boots her mother had given her for Christmas when she was 14, spewing anger about how her mother constantly tries to buy her love. 

Bellamy had just scoffed from where he was eavesdropping on her rant to Octavia on the couch, shaking his head. “Can’t handle some mild spoiling, princess?”

Clarke had hit him back with a look that could cut through any other man, even at her tender age of being barely-a-teenager, narrowed eyelids and a snarl. Bellamy just chuckled it off, going back to reading his worn copy of _Antigone_.

It became a regular thing after that, tagging the nickname on the end of any sentence he could. It started as a bitter thing at her endless family wealth, before turning into a familiar notion, then falling into the only affection he felt he could offer her with so many blockades in their way as a pair. She only ever truly hated it at first, allowing it after so long since it seemed to become a piece of comfort. 

He didn’t pull out a second punch with a new name to tease her with until she was 19 or so. This one a little more over-the-line.

Once again, they had been in the living room. Her on the ground, him on the couch. Octavia was out of town with Lincoln for only the second or third time, the relationship fresh. Clarke was wearing a sports bra, one a little too small since she hadn’t bothered to buy new ones in awhile, and a tight pair of yoga pants. She had announced that she was going to go workout before unceremoniously falling to the floor and stretching out to lay by Orpheus. Bellamy just rolled his eyes at her lie.

“What are you doing?” she questioned as she rubbed down the giant dog’s stomach, his favorite place to receive pets.

Bellamy pushed his glasses further up his nose, smoothing a hand down his face. He shifted the laptop balanced on his thighs. “I _was_ writing another chapter to my book, but you seem to have interrupted me.”

“Oh,” she all but gasped, sitting up quicker than he’d ever seen her move. “Can I read it?”

“We’ve talked about this. No.”

“Please?”

“Clarke -”

“You’ve been writing it for like a year. Just a couple chapters?” She was suddenly in his space, kneeling in front of where he was on the couch, hands clasped in front of her with a full pout adorning her pink mouth. His balls ached at that pretty picture. “Pleeeeeaaase?”

He poked at her puffed out bottom lip with his pointer finger to push it back in, having to stop himself from panting at his own bold move. “No. When it’s finished.”

Within the blink of an eye, she latched onto his finger with her teeth, giving it a soft bite that he felt at the head of his dick. There was no malice or anger behind it, if anything her eyes practically beamed at him as she did it. He snatches his hand back quick, letting it fall to the couch between them. She smirked in what she thought was triumph.

“Brat,” he muttered, breathless.

He noticed as her chest heaved with her next couple inhales and exhales, the name clearly hitting her where it mattered too. Long seconds passed with eye contact too heated for the situation before she smacked back with an, “Asshole.”

He quickly brushed off the moment, leaning back against his pillow and crossing his legs, computer screen still facing him. “You can read it when I’m ready for you to.”

With the air cleared and lighter, Clarke moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch, tangling her bare feet against his. How she had planned on going to workout with no shoes on, he had no idea.

-

The plane was supposed to start boarding soon, everyone gathered near the door still shut, eager kids bouncing and excited to get on the plane, exasperated adults sighing and wondering how many hard seltzers they’d be able to pound back once in their seats.

Bellamy notices Clarke hasn’t answered his last message, the “Brat” at the beginning of it now taunting him. He was afraid he’d crossed a line again judging by her lack of reply, but he tries to shove it off by instead going over his weekend itinerary for the millionth time.

It’s as he’s typing out a question to Miller that an overhead announcement crackles on in the terminal. He looks up upon hearing his flight number listed.

“...has been delayed due to severe weather near destination. We repeat, all flights to Newark Airport have been cancelled until further notice.”

Bellamy groans. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He flags down an attendant, demanding more information, but getting nothing more. All he receives is the option to wait for a spot on a later flight to open up, how later being unknown as of right now. 

“Would I be able to be in New York by tomorrow night?” Bellamy asks.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

He nods before turning away, grabbing his phone to call Miller. He scrubs a hand over his hair, agreeing that he does need it cut, and hating that he has to tell his best friend hundreds of miles away that he won’t be there in time for the opening. 

“Hey, man, what’s good?” Miller says upon answering.

“Is it raining in New York or New Jersey?”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s only a light drizzle. Why?”

Bellamy grumbles. “Well, I’m assuming it’s supposed to get worse. My flight was cancelled, including all flights into Newark Airport.”

Miller curses. “What about JFK?”

“The same thing.”

“Fuck.” Bellamy hears him shuffle things around before letting a loud breath. “What’s the game plan?”

“Well, they told me I can stick around and see if a spot opens up on a later flight that isn’t cancelled, but ‘how later’ is unknown. I asked if I’d be in New York by tomorrow night and they said it’s unlikely.”

Miller curses again.

“Yeah,” Bellamy sighs. “I agree.”

“What are you gonna do?”

He pauses on this, trying to decide what would be his best bet. Waiting around in an airport for hours upon hours, especially overnight, didn’t seem ideal if in the long run he didn’t even make it out there to do what he needed to do. He only took work off through Sunday afternoon, he’s expected to work the closing shift at the bar that day, so he’d hate to not make it into New York ‘til Saturday and have to leave so soon after that. 

“I might have to cut my losses and just go back home,” Bellamy decides, angry at whatever cloud decided to rain on his parade. “I’m sorry man. You know I want to be there.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Miller shrugs off. “It isn’t your fault. How about you come see her in a few weeks if possible?”

Bellamy smiles knowing there aren’t any hard feelings from his long-time friend. “Sounds amazing. And maybe I can even make it out there for longer than a weekend.”

“Perfect. Talk to ya later buddy.”

He starts to gather his things as he watches others start to slowly lose it from their own flights being cancelled. Whatever storm is rolling in must be pretty severe, especially with it not even being close to winter. Bellamy starts to call a cab before remembering he’ll be returning home to see Clarke again, an excited jab hitting him above the belt. 

“Clarke isn’t your home you dumb idiot,” he has to remind himself quietly, shaking his head. He does, however, open up his texts to send her a new message.

_Flight got cancelled cus rain sucks. Gonna head back and stay home for the weekend and take a few days off. See ya in a bit_

Five minutes later he’s getting in a cab with no answer yet again. She probably fell asleep for real this time.

-

Clarke stops in the living room to plug in her phone next to the couch, deciding she’ll go throw on sweatpants upstairs before cozying up with the rest of her book on her favorite piece of furniture in the house. Orpheus doesn’t seem eager to go on a walk any time soon, already snoozing by the fireplace on another dog bed. She laughs quietly to herself before turning to head to the stairs.

As she does, she halts upon taking in the door she never paid much attention to as a kid.

Unlike all the other doors in the house, it has a rounded top with a push knob instead of a turning knob. She remembers when Aurora was still around this used to be her craft room, mostly untouched since she never had the time or energy to utilize it. After Ms. Blake died, Octavia spent a whole week in there just breathing in the candles that still reminded her of her mother and wrapping herself in quilts piled in the corner. Clarke and Bellamy had to coax her out of there in order to kickstart the healing process. It was a tough year.

It remained the same for a bit after that, but Clarke also recalls Bellamy made it his project the summer between her junior and senior year to clean it out and donate everything in there, save for a few things now in the attic. He knew it was unhealthy for them to keep a practical shrine to their dead mother, so he detached all emotions and managed to clean it all out within a couple weeks. He even replaced the flooring from hardwood to carpet and touched up the vibrant red his mother had painted the walls. It looked brand new and ready to be used again. 

However, Clarke isn’t sure it ever was put to use again. Did Bellamy turn this into an office or anything? Maybe a storage room? Maybe this is where he moved all of O’s old stuff he claimed he threw out? 

Before she can help herself, Clarke reaches out and grasps the knob, pushing down on it to get it open. It doesn’t budge. 

“Locked?” she mutters. No door in this house has ever been locked, except for the front door. At least as far as she can remember. 

She turns and looks at Orpheus, who’s now a little more awake and staring at her. Good thing dogs have no concept of anything, because her stark nakedness would have put anyone else who lived in this house to shame. “Do you know why it’s locked?” she asks the dog, crossing her arms over her breasts. When he makes no reaction, she clicks her tongue. “Do you know how to unlock it?”

Once again, the big oaf just snorts and lays down, tucking his head under his paws. She laughs before looking back at the door again. 

“If I were Bellamy,” she murmurs, tapping her chin like a comic book character while racking her brain, “where would I hide a key?”

She goes to the set of drawers near the front door, opening each one without reservation, seeing nothing but papers and gloves and loose items. No key though. Then she goes to the hooks by the garage door, seeing the keys to his car, wondering if one of them would work. Much to her own guilt of rifling through his things, none of those keys work either after she tries them all. 

“What the fuck is in that room?” Clarke wonders aloud, a little frustrated that suddenly Bellamy has a secret she doesn’t know about.

If her curiosity weren’t so strong, she’d understand this was entirely inappropriate and an invasion of privacy. But fuck all that, she wants to know why Bellamy felt the need to shut her out. It’s never been that way between the two of them, she thought they had done a good job of creating a wonderfully intimate, close relationship that didn’t need to be labeled. Yet here she is, figuratively and literally locked out, and she doesn’t like it. 

Then, she remembers one more thing. 

Aurora liked to collect small, weird things, things that no one else wanted or had a use for. One thing she enjoyed in particular were small vases, so small that only tiny plants or things could hold house in. When Bellamy cleaned out her craft room that one summer, he had made it a point to keep some things, as extra as they were. One was an oval red vase, smooth and matte with a lid that had a rounded top. There was a cute white design of a simple flower on the front, clearly hand painted. If you saw it at an antique store nowadays it would go for maybe $3. 

“You wanna keep that one? Out of all of them?” Octavia had asked when he brought it into the living room mid-cleanup. 

Bellamy shrugged. “Why not? It’s not too crazy or big. It could fill that empty space on the fireplace by your guys’ picture from camp.” He then went over and set it exactly where he described, making sure the flower pointed out to the room. “See?”

Clarke had smiled. “I think it’s cute.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Sure. Whatever you two want.”

She can’t be too sure, but maybe she’s right. Clarke walks over to the fireplace, looking over her shoulder as if someone’s about to catch her. She gets on her tiptoes, pops open the lid of the vase, and peers in as best she can. 

And sitting there, on top of a wad of random black cloth, is a silver key. 

“Oh, I got you, Blake,” she grins, reaching in with her free fingers and fishing it out.

She giddily runs back to the door under the staircase, bypassing a still sleepy Orpheus, and pushes the key into the lock. To her absolute triumph, it clicks open.

-

Bellamy isn’t totally sure when he finally understood what his feelings for Clarke were, but he now knows, as a man in his later 20s, that it was a slow progression. Knowing and growing with someone from a young age and seeing them turn into who they were always meant to be was a joy with Octavia and Clarke.

With O, it was a transition of seeing her move on from the heartbreak of their mother dying to healing to allowing herself the space to be confident about who she always wanted to be. But with Clarke, it was like he was watching with admiration, getting a front seat view to her blossom into a young woman, maturing faster than any other person he’d encountered. This could be blamed on her relationship with Abby, but she never let it hinder her, only further who she aimed to be. Something a lot of people wouldn’t be able to do with half as much grace that Clarke did it with, which made him admire her all the more.

The first boy Clarke ever associated herself with was a guy named Finn, some jerk-off on the lacrosse team at her high school who eventually started a rumor that they had fucked behind the bleachers when they hadn’t. 

Bellamy had found her crying in Aurora’s old craft room, still filled to the brim with old fabric and scrapbooking bits and bobs. She was covered in one of their old quilts, like the ones Octavia herded in after the funeral, crying into her hands and smearing mascara all over her fingers. 

“Clarke?” he asks tenderly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She sobbed once more, shaking her head. “Boys fucking suck.”

Bellamy’s brows went low at that, scowling immediately. “What the fuck did Finn do this time?”

“He…” Clarke attempted to catch her breath, her chest heaving as it usually does when she’s beyond able to talk. “He said we had sex. At the school. Everyone’s talking about it.”

His fingers curled into his palm, so hard he knew he’d cut his skin if he didn’t relax. “He did what?”

“Bell, it’s really okay, I -”

“I’ll kill him.”

Clarke gave out a short, bubbling laugh from her lack of oxygen, wiping under her eyes with her forearms as she finally looked Bellamy in the face. “You couldn’t hurt a fly.” Oh, there’s so much she doesn’t know. “But thank you. I’m glad I have you and Octavia to look after me.”

“Let me guess, she threatened him in front of a bunch of people.”

“At lunch, in the line for a burrito. He was so shocked he didn’t even have a rebuttal,” Clarke told with pride, happy that her favorite siblings were so protective of her. “I’ll be okay, I promise. It’s just gonna hurt for a bit.”

“The things that shape us usually do,” Bellamy replied, pulling her into a side hug as best he could with them on the ground. He gave the top of her head a kiss. “Let’s go watch one of your movies or something to get your mind off of it.”

“Or we could watch one of yours,” she offered, sniffling. 

He was taken aback, but he grinned. “Sure. Come on.”

-

She didn’t know what to expect when she pushed open the door, letting the key drop to the ground, but it definitely wasn’t what she saw.

All that was the same from what used to house the room was the carpet Bellamy had put in from the summer cleanup and the vibrant red painted walls, but everything else in the room was...different. To say the least.

The most tame thing she spots is a chest of drawers made of dark wood against the farthest wall, some silky fabric and dark colored rope on top of it next to a simple table-lamp. Her heart starts beating as she trails her eyes over to something else, knees suddenly shaky. 

A queen sized bed, the same dark wood, with leather straps on each bedpost, a nightstand on one side with a box of condoms cracked open and a bottle of lube next to it. As if used recently. 

In the middle of the room there’s a high saddle looking thing with a high bench and a low bench, more leather straps secured to the front and back. It isn’t until Clarke is near it, one shaking hand reaching out to touch the padding of the lower part, does she realize what this is. She’s not completely dense, the internet exists, and she’s gotten curious before. 

This is a spanking bench. 

Her eyes take more in, seeing a couple paddles and whips in a basket on the ground, another table she’s unsure of the use for against the wall near the chest of drawers, and some discarded blindfolds hung on some hooks near the door. Her heart starts palpitating under her rib cage, tongue darting out to lick at her dry lips. Clarke can’t quite wrap her head around it. 

Bellamy has a _dungeon_? 

She almost has to laugh to fully comprehend it, giggling nervously as she continues to drink in everything surrounding her. It’s not the kinkiest thing she’s ever seen, mostly tame if she has to be so blunt, but if he didn’t start putting this room together until after Clarke and Octavia “moved out” it’s only been accumulated over a span of not even two years. He’s got time to build it up to what he wants it to be. 

Again...Bellamy has a _dungeon_.

Her hand is still on one of the padded parts of the spanking bench, too hesitant to remove it lest it wink out of existence. She’s still trying to figure out if this is real. She’s also now acutely aware that she’s butt-ass naked. In a sex dungeon. That belongs to her best friend. Her best friend that she’s secretly in love with. Clarke’s nipples harden all over again. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, rubbing her hand over the bench one more time. 

Who would have thought that Mr. Respect is a kinky bastard? She can only assume he does the spanking, right? She can’t picture Bellamy Blake being anything but dominant, figured that was the case even before she discovered his dirty little room. What she _didn’t_ figure was that he’d have a _whole_ dirty little room dedicated to it, that he was a Dom through and through.

Her thighs are quivering now, the stirring of her arousal too much to handle all at once. 

Another laugh falls past her lips as she moves around the bench, coming to the side she deduces is where you mount it. Dare she?

He won’t be home ‘til Sunday. There’s no way he’d know she broke in here. She’ll get on the bench, try it out, picture Bellamy spanking her, wank one off real quick, then close and lock the door, put the key back, and pretend like she never found his secret. She’ll have masturbation material for months. 

Giddy at her boldness, she gives one passing look over her shoulder at the open door, giggles again, then puts one knee up on the lowest padding, then another, before throwing her torso over the higher bench. She pushes her thighs to be flush with the planks, her blonde hair dangling over the sides of the face rest. Her arms dangle as well before she sees there are handholds if so needed, paired with some of those leather straps she’d noticed before. For restraining. A moan passes her lips at that realization, wiggling her ass for some sort of reprieve. She can feel her pussy is wet now, the air conditioning that had kicked on teasing her between her legs. 

Clarke takes a moment to remember this, completely bent over and exposed on Bellamy’s spanking bench, ass up and out toward the open the door to his concealed room, without his knowledge, stark naked. She could come just from the mental image of herself, her eyes slipping shut as she thrusts her hips at absolutely nothing. 

God, she wants him so bad. If only he could see her like this.

-

By the time Bellamy’s cab is pulling up to his house, he still hasn’t heard from Clarke. That solidifies for him that she has to be asleep - she always answers his texts if she’s conscious. He wonders if that means she took Orpheus out for his walk, but isn’t too concerned since he knows she’ll make up for it tomorrow.

“Thanks man,” he tells the cab driver, paying him before grabbing his luggage, yet again, and stepping out onto the curb. 

He’s confused seeing most of the lights downstairs are on, but reminds himself that Clarke likes to sleep on that couch more than any surface in there. She’s probably dozing there. He smiles to himself before going up the walkway and then the steps, stopping at the front door to dig out his keys to unlock the door. 

Oh, shit. Right. He left them here since Clarke would have just opened it for him when he was supposed to come back on Sunday. 

Not wanting to risk waking her up, he decides to go around through the back gate, praying the back door is left unlocked. Coming into his backyard, he chuckles seeing the hot tub is bubbling, meaning Clarke used it and, yet again, forgot to turn it off. Which she tends to do. He resolves to jokingly chastising her for it inside before coming back out to do it himself, then walks up the steps of the porch to the back door. He’s happy to find it unlocked, turning it quietly and stepping in. 

The kitchen is half lit from the living room, no movement anywhere. Not even Orpheus running to greet him. Hm, interesting.

He heads that way, seeing the lamp by the couch on and his gorgeous dog dead asleep by the fireplace. Bellamy sets his bags down before rounding the couch to wake Clarke up, but stops in his tracks to see the sofa empty and Clarke-less.

“Huh?” he murmurs. 

Her phone is there, plugged in and charging. Did it die? Plus a well-worn book next to it. Bellamy picks this up, immediately choking back a laugh at the cover of a beefy man about to kiss a very small woman, this book clearly erotic. He knows Clarke loves those though, so he thinks nothing of it. He sets the book back down before deciding she must be upstairs. 

As he heads back the way he came around the couch, he’s sucker-punched.

Metaphorically, of course. 

It’s the only thing he could describe the feeling as upon seeing the room to his dungeon half open, light spilling out of it. 

His heart starts to pound a messy rhythm in his chest, throat suddenly running dry. It takes him a full ten seconds to recover from the fact that _Clarke broke into his locked room and is there and knows what it is_. Upon fully accepting it however, he finds his lips pulling into a smirk. 

This will be a fun conversation. 

He walks forward, hoping he’s as quiet as he thinks he is, pushing into the open doorway. He takes note of the key to the room dropped on the ground. So not only did she break into the room, she broke into it by finding his secret hiding place. 

That fucking _minx_. 

Rounding the corner, he’s once again taken so fully aback the air is knocked out of him. 

Clarke, his beautiful, sweet Clarke, is tossed over his spanking bench, ass in the air, hand between her open legs, two fingers in her pussy, grinding her clit down on her flat palm. Eagerly fucking herself, face shrouded by her blonde hair. Perfectly placed on _his fucking spanking bench_ looking like sex personified. 

Little mewls are falling past her lips, quick breathing as she’s clearly getting herself to climax. Not close, he thinks, but well on her way. 

Her free hand is gripping one of the handholds of the bench like a vice, keeping her balance for her. Bellamy could easily strap that hand and both her legs down with the restraints he already has tied to each post, but knows he has to assess this moment delicately. He can’t cross a line this big - he has to take careful steps. 

Maybe Clarke will like a firm hand. He’s about to find out.

He takes the strides to come to one side of his bench, the side away from her face, no longer caring if she hears him. In one swift move he grasps the back of her neck, holding her in place. The other hand takes grip of one of her hips, holding her in place on that end as well. Pinned down. Caught. 

She gasps, letting out a fearful grunt as her fingers fall out of her pussy, hand still trapped between her legs from him disallowing her to move. 

“Brat,” he admonishes, “what do you think you’re doing?”

-

She can feel a blaze of heat and excitement knowing that she’s gotten away with something this big, will have her own dirty little secret just like Bellamy. One that ties them to each other but he won’t have any idea about. This is what she keeps in mind, as well as the image of Bellamy marking her ass red, when she starts fingering herself right on his spanking bench.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been so bold as to do it _right here_ , even when thinking she’s alone, since that adds another thing to her list of new secrets. She couldn’t help herself, caught up in the moment, feeling so naughty, she had to do it. 

Clarke pictures him storming in, finding her, and spanking her as punishment ‘til her ass is raw. Then he’d waste no time in fucking her right there, restraining her to his bench to teach her what a dirty little brat she is for breaking into his room and using his personal possessions as her toy. Maybe he’d even gag her, take what he wants from her since she took what she wanted from him. 

It’s in the throes of this fantasy that she almost believes it’s real once she feels a hand grip the back of her neck. Her moan turns louder, elated she’s so close to coming that it seems real, his warm palm holding her down. 

Yet it’s when a second hand grasps hold of her moving hip and forces that down as well, thoroughly trapping her against the bench, that Clarke’s eyes pop open and a gasp is forced from between her lips. Her fingers fall out of her pussy in shock.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

This is real. Someone’s here. She’s been caught. 

Bellamy is -

“Brat,” he growls, voice firm and dark, and enough to make it feel like she’s still close to the edge. A whimper pulls out of her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her initial reaction is to violently apologize, scared he’s mad - infuriated even - that she’s violated his privacy this way. The sorry is close to coming, as well as a tear or two, before she realizes what he’d said. 

_Brat_.

Surely he wouldn’t use the pet name if he was pissed off at her. Bellamy has only ever been genuinely angry with Clarke a handful of times, and when he has been it was because she deliberately did something that put her in danger or assisted Octavia in breaking a rule he had set. Other than that he’s only ever been mildly annoyed or somewhat frustrated. Yet it would never last, always falling into forgiving her and letting her snuggle with him and Orpheus on the couch. 

Surely, if he was so angry, he wouldn’t have called her _brat_.

“I - I...you were hiding something from me,” she finally admits, trying to push against his grip holding her down instinctually. It doesn’t work, his strength not budging, meaning he meant to keep her in place for the time being. It did nothing but make a little bit of juice from her pussy drip onto her hand squashed flat between her legs. She’s even more scandalized hearing the absolute arousal thick in her voice. “I wanted to know what the big secret was.”

This gives him pause, which she didn’t expect, but it doesn’t cause him to loosen his hold on her. She wiggles against his restraint once again but he retaliates with squeezing a little tighter on her neck for one, two, three seconds, before releasing the pressure. She’s left gasping, not because he had even choked her a little bit, but because it reminded her of her current place.

“I think you can see why I kept it a secret,” Bellamy finally replies, voice still splashed with a dark growl that reverberates in her tummy. “Judging by the locked door.”

She blushes fiercely, and even in her complete exposure to him, she’s thankful he can’t see all of her face. “I didn’t think you’d be home.”

He chuckles at this, her body warming up at the sound as if triggered by it. “So, what was your plan then, brat?” She whimpers again at the pet name. “To sneak into my locked room, make yourself at home, fuck yourself on your fingers, on _my_ spanking bench, then lock the door behind you and pretend like it never happened? While looking me in the face in just a matter of days, knowing you’d been so, so naughty right under my nose?”

The fact that she’s so transparent to him, even in this setting, is a wonder and a testament to how well he knows her. 

When she doesn’t immediately respond, he asks again. “Was it, Clarke?”

She wants to turn and hide her face from him so bad, but can’t. His grasp is solid and relentless. “Yes, yes, it was.”

“What made you want to get on my bench and fuck yourself until you came?” he then questions, less of an accusatory tone this time. The casual tint to his voice, however, sends her on a tailspin, wondering how he can appear so aloof. She wants to turn and see his face more than she wants to come.

“Your room...it surprised me,” she gasps out, still feeling the closeness of her orgasm teasing the edges of her womb. If only she’d been able to grind on her hand a couple more times before he’d interrupted her… “I didn’t expect what I saw.”

“You didn’t expect me to have something that could keep you still while I whipped your ass for invading my privacy?”

Clarke gasps, it almost sounding like a sob. “No, no, I - I didn’t.”

“Did you come?”

She squirms at this, hating the interrogation. He meant to humiliate her and he was effectively doing it. “No.”

This pulls another chuckle out of Bellamy, his hands on her naked body seemingly not affecting him at all. While she, on the other hand, has had a swallow stuck halfway down her throat since he first touched her. 

“Do you want to?”

Clarke nods as best she can with his hand still holding down her neck, a whimper so loud passing her lips it doesn’t even sound like herself. “Yes, please, please -”

“First things first,” he interrupts, the excitement in her chest boiling back down at his no-business tone. “You are going to apologize to me - properly apologize to me - for breaking into a room I intended to keep you out of.” This drives a stake into her chest. “Then we will discuss what comes next. Understood?”

“Understood, Bellamy.”

He moves off her neck, smoothing the hot palm down her spine before also releasing her hip. She tentatively lifts her head and quicky slides her hand out from between her legs, the squelching sounds from her wetness not going unnoticed by either of them. Her body is sore from being forced in the position longer than intended, which Bellamy knew, so his hands are back to hold her elbows so she may steadily get off the bench. When she’s on her own two feet for the first time in what feels like hours does she look up and into his face. 

His lips are parted, small shallow breaths hitting the stray hairs tickling her cheeks. She has to remember that she’s affecting him as much as he’s affecting her, even if he’s better at hiding it. She can only imagine what visceral reaction his body had at finding a nude, wet, writhing girl in his sex dungeon unprecedented. His eyes are hooded and dark, drinking her in like a man foregone water for eons. She swallows. 

“Now,” he says, taking a step back and squaring his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. She always forgets how _big_ Bellamy is compared to her, probably because he never gets in this mode with her. Dominant Bellamy is probably pretty intimidating and she’s barely had a taste yet. “You may apologize.”

“I -”

“Try again.”

She tilts her head to the side, unsure what she could have done wrong with only a single syllable. At her questioning gaze he flicks his eyes to the ground, a silent command her pussy quivers at. 

Clarke nods in understanding before slowly and deliberately lowering herself to the ground, pressing to the floor until she’s kneeling in front of him. He uses one foot to nudge at the crease where her knees are pressed together for some relief, and she loosens, allowing him to kick open her bent legs so she’s spread once more.

Her cheeks are blazing, her eyes are watering, and her nipples are so hard they hurt. He’s completely blown her wide and free. 

When he seems satisfied with her positioning she looks up at him, pushing the blonde hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she murmurs, voice shaking from the unsureness of what’s going to happen next. “I felt locked out. You’ve never kept a secret from me before. I shouldn’t have broken your trust the way I did and I shouldn’t have planned on keeping a secret as well.” Her following exhale feels broken, passing her lips like she has no more breath to give. “I really am sorry.”

Bellamy reaches down with one hand, pressing a thumb to the mole above her lip, the one she’s hated all her life but he claims is the cutest part of her. The rest of his hand fits against her face, allowing her to lean into it as the guilt of what she did leaves her body. His brown eyes probe at her from under the too-long black curls brushing his eyelashes. He smiles. “I forgive you, princess. I hope you know I would have shown you if you just asked. Even if it would have changed our relationship drastically.”

“Hasn’t that happened anyway?”

He laughs, hearty and loud, no trace of darkness left in his voice. “I guess so.” He rubs at the mole once, twice, before watching her chase his thumb to pull into her mouth. His eyes glaze over, the pupils widening. “You really are a brat, you know that?”

She lathes her tongue over his fingernail, biting at the soft underside. Her next words are said around the digit in her mouth. “Show me how much you believe it.”

-

Having Clarke back bent over his spanking bench is a dream come fucking true, especially with his consent this time. Before he’d helped her back onto it he’d stolen a kiss right from her lips, something he’d been dreaming of doing ever since he saw her making out with that guy Wells she didn’t even like but thought would make her mom mad. Her mouth was warm and wet, small and perfect. He had no problem claiming her there, as well as claiming her everywhere as he ran his hands over every square inch of her body.

“Ready for your punishment?” he’d asked, her cheeks running with blood again. Now that he’s seen such a sensual blush from her, he doesn’t want anything else. 

She nodded, unable to form words it seemed.

This time, with his permission, he guided her onto his favorite possession, showing her exactly where to place her limbs for optimal comfort, as well as the best position so her ass is tucked into the air in the most perfect way. He steals the hair tie off her wrist and pulls her hair back and off her face, braiding it loosely so he can see her properly during what’s about to happen. 

“I’m asking not because I want it, but because I want to know what you like,” Bellamy begins, smoothing a hand down her ass for the first time and feeling the echoes of it in his dick. “Would you like me to tie you down?”

He sees her shiver in response, a small “oof” coming from her mouth, whether she notices or not is another thing. There’s a pause before: “Can we next time? I don’t want to...I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Bellamy rounds the bench to see her face, once again cupping her cheek. He smiles down at her. “Don’t apologize, brat. I was only asking to see if it’s something you’re interested in. It appears it is, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Thank you,” she breathes in relief. He gives her a kiss, which she clearly appreciates by the moan he swallows, before going back to the other end of the bench. 

He knows since this is probably her first time being spanked - he hopes - he doesn’t dare use anything but his hand to wield the punishment. Paddles and whips are fun, but only for those looking for a different kind of pain. The hand always felt more personal, more intimate. And he can’t deny he’s fantasized about pulling Clarke over his lap and smacking her ass unforgivingly with his open palm. For this, there’s no other instrument he’d prefer to use. 

“When I walked into my dungeon and saw you -” he has to stop at the groan buried in his chest. “Fuck, Clarke. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.” From his vantage point he watches as her pussy clenches on air, still wet and wanting. He can’t wait to be inside her in whatever capacity she allows. “I’ve wanted you for so long so seeing you...naked and open for me...fuck. You’re such a brat.”

Clarke moans, her luscious body shaking. “Please, Bellamy, please.”

His first smack is a surprise, surging her forward from the impact. It’s quickly followed by a moan tumbling past her lips, loud and wanton. He smirks. A part of him always knew she’d be perfect for this, but he wasn’t sure how to prove it. He’s glad fate dealt them cards tonight. 

The spanking is quick and hard, no mercy being given. He still makes it pleasurable however, not spanking her to leave bruises or marks - just a red that will likely sit for a couple days. By the end, he’s given her 20 in total, a number higher than he probably should have given, but he got a bit carried away.

Clarke doesn’t seem to mind from the whines coming from her mouth.

He soothes the punishment by touching his fingers to her pussy for the first time, his eyes fluttering shut at the soft, wet skin, her mewling egging him to slip a digit in. It’s as hot and inviting as he imagined it would be, her walls gripping him as if he’d dare go anywhere. “Bellamy,” she groans, head lolling to the side. He can see her back and chest heaving. “Please…”

He growls, adding a second finger, slipping his thumb under her to find her clit. Upon contact her hips bolt up, mouth gasping as he rubs relentlessly at the sparked point that clearly brings her to where she craves to be.

“Don’t stop,” she blabs, eyes squeezing as she pumps her hips faster. 

“I wouldn’t dare, brat,” Bellamy replies, his free hand holding her by the waist so he can enjoy the view of him steering Clarke’s body like it’s his. “Your pussy is mine now, I won’t stop until you’re begging me too.”

Idle words and curses tumble past her pink lips as she comes, her hands gripping at the sides of his spanking bench so hard she could claw through the wood and planks. He eases her down with gentle strokes against a particular spot inside of her, allowing her to enjoy all that he gave her. He stops playing with her clit however, just reveling in the feel of her pussy gripping the three fingers buried inside of her.

When he decides she’s sated, he removes his hand from between her legs, wiping his fingers on the inside of her thigh. Clarke gives no refusal to it, just breathing hard as she moves down from her high. He rounds to her face again, crouching down and offering her the digits still slightly damp. She opens her mouth in welcome and each of his balls practically burst. 

He lets her suck on them for a bit before letting his hand fall back to his side, his lips kissing at her forehead idly.

She hums, clearly satisfied. “Thank you.”

Bellamy’s heart clenches, almost knocked back by what she said. The fact that she showed gratitude, thanked her dominant for giving her what she needed, without him instructing her to? He’s fucking found his heaven, he can die happy now. 

“You’re welcome, brat,” he tells her, not letting the real heat he’s feeling enter his voice. He stands to slide his arms under her body, helping her to her feet once more. Clarke lets him, her curves fitting nicely against the lankiness of his build as he walks them over to the bed just feet away.

“You’re still clothed,” she pouts as he lays her down, fluttering her pretty blue eyes at him. He smirks.

“If I had it my way you’d always be naked while I remained clothed, but alas,” he sighs as her legs clench together, “as you wish.”

Bellamy strips of his jeans and white t-shirt, sad he’s not better dressed for his princess. He leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor, allowing her a good look at his generous dick bouncing free of its prison before crawling into bed beside her. She licks her lips, looking into his face with trepidation. 

“Are you…” he waits for her to finish, not wanting to break this moment, “will you fuck me now?”

And if that isn’t the damn sexiest thing he’s ever heard…

“Of course,” he murmurs, rolling on top of her. “But this time we’re gonna go nice and slow so I can appreciate you the way I’ve always wanted to.” He feels his voice go hoarse for a second before he clears his throat, shaking it away. “You’re everything to me, Clarke.”

She smiles, eyes shining as she bends up to claim his mouth. “You’re my whole world, Bellamy Blake.”

The look they share says more than either are willing to admit in the moment, so Belllamy moves past it with another press to her lips. She murmurs into his mouth, her hips pushing into his eagerly. He laughs against her teeth. “You’re impatient, brat,” he accuses, grasping a breast in one large hand since he hasn’t paid any attention to them yet tonight. “I should plug your ass and keep you waiting until tomorrow for being so wanton.”

Clarke’s pupils widen at the idea, the rest of her face giving no indication his words had done something to her. But he knows. He’ll always know from here on out. And he’s ecstatic to continue learning about every inch of her desires. “Judging by the hard dick you’ve been sporting the whole day I’d say you’re as impatient as me.”

Oh, she’s not gonna make her submission easy to take. 

Good thing Bellamy Blake has always loved a challenge.

-

He fucks her slow and hard, letting her pussy feel every part of him. The mushroom tip that bulges, the soft ridges along the shaft, his balls slapping against her perineum when he manages to bottom out. He lathes her nipples with affection, sucking each one with a gusto she’d only seen him deal out to his waiting customers at the bar. They were puffy and pink by the time he’s done with them, her own clit discovering that she enjoyed how he nibbled on them ‘til he was satisfied.

When she finally comes it starts at her pussy, hot wired to every other pleasure point on her body. It didn’t send her through a hurricane, but it lapped over the length of her body before settling behind her clit. They were both sweating and spent when he pulls out without warning and spills onto her stomach. She’s never felt more proud of having a man mark his territory on her. Before, she’d been disgusted when her one-night stand with Roan had ended with his cum practically in her asshole and she’d chewed him out for it. 

But with Bellamy - god she wants it all over her. 

After a brief spooning session filled with whispered _good girl_ s and _so beautiful, princess_ ’, he demands they shower. Clarke then demands he carry her there, which he seems more than happy to abide by. 

They spend the majority of their cleansing lazily kissing, her pressed against the wall, him exploring the region of her pussy lips to get more of a feel for her. He wonders if he’ll ever get enough of it - he’s dreamt about his hand being buried inside of her for so long, it doesn’t quite seem possible it’s real yet. 

When they’re toweling off he says with no heat: “Go lay on the couch. I’ll meet you there with something.”

No other explanation, just a kiss before he disappears into his room. 

She isn’t quite sure of the parameters of their relationship now, uncertain if she should wait for further instruction, but decides that she can’t go wrong remaining naked. So she bypasses her own room and goes downstairs, laughing at Orpheus greeting her with a wet nose to the back of her knee. She realizes he’s probably expecting his nightly treat he usually gets after walks, so she digs one out of the pantry for him. He licks her hand in gratitude before curling up on the previous dog bed with it all over again. 

Clarke takes her spot on the couch like Bellamy asked of her, finally picking up her phone that she hasn’t touched in hours. 

_Flight got cancelled cus rain sucks. Gonna head back and stay home for the weekend and take a few days off. See ya in a bit_

She laughs at her obliviousness. This whole time if she had just had a higher battery power, she would have known Bellamy was coming home, and wouldn’t have snooped or been caught. Riding on such a high, she’s not sure which route would have been the safest to go down in hindsight. The complicated baggage that comes with what transpired between the two of them isn’t something she’s ready to unpack yet. The morning will bring clarity and that’s when she’ll decide. 

Soon she hears Bellamy clamber down the stairs, shirtless but wearing a pair of basketball shorts. He’s also holding a bottle of something, what looks to be repairing lotion. Her body heats up at the prospect of him rubbing her ass.

“Roll over,” he murmurs as he comes to her side. 

She obeys, seeing him crouch down and squirt a generous dollop into his palm. Her heart beats steadily in her ears as he massages the oil onto her raw cheeks, the burn and sting she’d been ignoring igniting with a vengeance. She winces as he smooths it over her red skin, keeping the noises at bay. 

Once he’s happy with that, he uses the excess to rub into her thighs, doing large sweeping strokes that start to make her feel sleepy. 

She never did take that nap.

After he’s finished he caps the bottle and sets it by her charging phone and erotic novel, moving the hair off her face. The lotion smells like vanilla. “You all right?” he asks, thumb on her mole again. 

Clarke smiles and nods. “Better than all right.”

Bellamy chuckles at that, coming from deep in his chest. If she wasn’t mistaken, it looks like there’s contentment on his face. 

“Just one more thing?” she tries, teeth biting at her lip. 

“Yes, brat?”

Her pussy goes wet at that. “Can you give me that back rub you promised?”

His eyes roll, but without any actual feeling behind it. “I knew I’d regret that form of payment the minute I agreed to it.”

She grins, wrinkling her nose. “Asshole.”

They adjust so he’s now on the couch with her back to his chest while cradled by his thick legs. She places her hands on his thighs, relaxing into his warmth. He smiles at that, feeling his chest tighten at the gorgeous picture before him. 

Orpheus decides he wants company as well, moving off his bed and jumping onto the free space at Clarke’s feet. He curls into as small of a ball as he can there - the big oaf - and rests his head on her toes. Bellamy wonders why this moment in time has felt more like a home than ever before. He shakes it off.

His fingers dig at the knots in her shoulders, feeling her tense with each press of his thumb. He lets his lips touch the top of her ear. “Are you sore from the bench?”

Clarke’s shiver doesn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah. But it’s okay. Just gonna hurt for a bit.”

Bellamy’s instinctual response comes out before he can stop it, the weight of the words falling onto them the same way snow blankets a valley. “The things that shape us usually do.”

She isn’t sure how to respond to that, just keeps it dangling between them. 

The air has shifted, the tension between them new, different, but almost expected. Maybe they were always meant to get to this point. Maybe the paths they chose led them here. Either way, Clarke feels something low in her tummy, a heat letting her know she’s exactly where she wants to be. For now.


End file.
